


the diviner

by xShieru



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Childhood Friends, Discrimination, Dreamscapes, Gen, M/M, Magic, Rituals, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, involves some gorey scenes so beware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 17:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xShieru/pseuds/xShieru
Summary: He does, however, believe in wolves. In shifters. In magi.Yusaku believes in rumors that involve real facts and truths. Trusts in the hushed stories involving a giant white wolf the size of a grown bear, one that keeps appearing in the dead of the night to save its own kin from damnation, readily setting villages and towns ablaze whenever it meets any sort of resistance or hostility. Believes in the Fanged Justice and the White Beast of the North, more known among the locals as ‘the Diviner’ – a magus of unparalleled power, seeking things unknown, while freeing enslaved magi all across the continent, releasing more and more crazed hordes into the world.Yusaku grows up with a white wolf and a ghost.





	the diviner

**Author's Note:**

> carrying on the tradition? oh man this is a mess.  
> but enjoy it nonetheless.

He’s still too young to have a mind of his own when Father brings back a pup that he’d found caught in their bear trap.

It’s a scared little thing, snarling and hissing and _so very small_ , cradled against Father’s chest, its tiny fangs barred and fur puffed up. The baby wolf tries to lunge for the man’s throat yet to no avail - its button-like, pain and exhaustion-warmed nose is pressed tightly against the cautious human’s chest.

There’re several dried blood spots on its snow-white tail. The appendage rests limp and useless, hurting the pup whenever it brushes against rough cloth or strong arms. The creature howls in pain once the human tries to take a better look at the injuries and sinks its tiny yet sharp teeth into his flesh when those nimble fingers try to clean off the gore with a wet rag. Yusaku watches the process from the bed, equal parts mystified and fascinated, observes the wolf’s struggle but doesn’t dare to come close – his father firmly warns him to _stay back_. Father doesn’t mind the pup’s rough treatment, and by the time he finishes tying the final knot on the wolf’s bandages, he’s in pain as well, rubbing at the countless bites and scratches.

The wolf, however, calms down. It curls up far out of the man’s reach, bony body pressed into the wooden wall of the house. It licks its bandages but no longer attempts to fight or escape, eerie blue eyes narrowed and suspicious. The wolf backs into a corner when Father stands up slowly, as if pacifying a skittish steed, and moves to pick up his toddler son, unwilling to leave him alone in the same room as their ‘guest’. Pup or not, it’s still a wild animal. Yusaku lets himself get collected without much fighting, green eyes boring into cobalt-blue.

Even as a baby Yusaku isn’t much for animal company, harboring an intense dislike for their family cat that scratched him up real good when he’d accidentally pinched its tail, however, this white soft creature is something else entirely. Yusaku thinks of it as fluffy and that’s about it; he doesn’t quite have a good grasp on sympathy just yet. Something about that silken fur makes Yusaku want to waddle closer and coddle it to death, but his Father is already exiting the bedroom, murmuring something about leftover uncooked meat and salve.

“Puppy,” Yusaku tells no one in particular and smiles at the responding twitch of the wolf’s button nose. Their eye contact is cut short when Father rounds a corner.

* * *

 

`The ‘Puppy’ remains in the Fujiki household for three whole days, less and less hostile with every passing hour. By the end of day three, the wolf doesn’t shy away from food and it even lets itself be touched, eyes closed when Father scratches it under its fluffy maw.

“Good boy,” he beams and laughs when Yusaku nearly trips over himself in his haste to pet the ‘Puppy’ too.

The wolf presses its tail to the ground and moves out of range, ears flattened against its head, startled by this human child. But the kid doesn’t ‘attack’, rather patiently sits by his father’s side, arm outstretched, waiting for the wolf to come towards it.

The wolf butts its nose against the open palm and places a paw on it.

“He’s saying hello, Yusaku,” Father translates with a wide, beckoning grin when he catches the sight of his son’s emerald eyes lighting up like a candle. The toddler gently cradles the wolf’s unwavering, white leg.

“Hi, Puppy,” Yusaku greets the animal, because that’s what Father wants him to do whenever he meets someone new, and that’s where they become friends.

So it’s only natural that Yusaku cries tears of devastation when he wakes up the following day and Puppy is nowhere to be found.

* * *

 

The tears don’t last for more than a week, because, as if heeding his cries and incessant calling, the wolf pup reemerges from the tree-line that separates the Fujiki backyard and the sparse forest, warily scouting for signs of human activity, before sneakily approaching the still-distraught boy from behind.

Yusaku hugs it, and this time it does not shy away, licking at the side of the toddler’s tear-stained face. The action turns the short-lived sobbing into childish giggling and then they settle for playing together until midday. Father returns from the grain fields, pleasantly surprised to discover the wolf pup’s return.

“Thank you for not abandoning my boy,” Fujiki Sr. thanks the white creature, bowing his head to show gratefulness, and spares the wolf an extremely juicy slab of meat. “He was so heartbroken. I thought he’d never stop crying.” The ever-present light of his olive-green eyes dims significantly, the corners of his lips drooping. Distressed by the sudden shift in mood, the pup trips over itself and then the bowl, face-planting on the creaky boards.

At least it earns the wolf a hearty laugh.

* * *

 

Those quick wolf-visits grow more and more frequent, and before they know it, Yusaku and Puppy grow up together. It takes years for Yusaku to fill out his clothes and just as long for Puppy to look more like the wolf it is meant to be and not a fluffy little creature with snow-white fur and barely-visible darker smudges around the collar.

Eventually, Father grows concerned by the wolf’s unusual growth spurts and, in turn, makes Yusaku promise to never tell anyone about their domesticated wildling. Not a single soul. Yusaku swears that he won’t say or even whisper a word of this, because even if he wants to, he knows that he cannot – he hardly has any friends his age, their house being located at the outskirts of Den village; its namesake referring to the abundance of wolves and foxes swarming the woods and the general area.

He thinks that even if he could tell anyone, he’d choose to remain silent – why would he ever brag about a wolf that they’ve successfully domesticated; one that’s become his best friend over the course of the last four-something years that they’ve spent together. First off, Yusaku’s aware that no one would actually believe him – wolf domestication was hardly heard of in these parts of the continent – and second, they might want to play with Pup as well. Yusaku simply doesn’t like the idea of sharing his wolf’s attention.

Third, well, Pup has a habit of disappearing whenever they do get unexpected guests, as if sensing unfamiliar humans from miles away. The disappearances are always perfectly-timed, but Yusaku is only six years old so he doesn’t think too much of it.

His Father, however, does, but he loves the wolf too much to chase it away or threaten it with arrows.

During one particularly lazy afternoon, Yusaku chooses to lounge on the porch, head propped against the wolf’s side, its white fur tickling the tops of his ears. Lost in thought, he brings up what’s actually weighing down on his innocent, childish heart.

“Papa told me that the villagers have become really mean to the other wolves. I -” Yusaku swallows nervously. The wolf remains still as a stone statue, continuing to act like a comfortable pillow and a proper head rest. There is no way for the boy to tell if it’s even listening to his woes. “I’m scared, Pup. What if one day they catch you and I won’t even know until it’s too late? If I even find out. I don’t want Papa to come back home with your fur in his hands. Can’t you stay?” The boy turns on his side, face pressed into the silken snow-white. The wolf has its head craned in the human’s direction, calmly looking down, its dark blue eyes wise.

Yusaku puts a palm on the animal’s side and feels its sleek muscles jolt at the abrupt touch. “Do you have to go back every night? Do you have a family waiting for you?”

The wolf chooses that moment to butt its snout against Yusaku’s nose, nipping it. The boy sniffs at the sensation, “I’m trying to be serious!” the kid pouts, but the wolf only snorts against a soft cheek and grooms the little kid that it’s grown so very attached to.

The boy is close to its heart, dear and precious, someone meant to be protected. The wolf promises to itself that it will keep this boy safe for as long as it can.

* * *

 

In the center of the Den village, there are countless local stories floating around, ones that Yusaku’s father refuses to disclose.

It’s not his intention to keep Yusaku carefully sheltered and away from _their_ world - rather, he wants the boy to be _happy_ and the wolf pup seems to be the only one capable of making the blue-haired boy smile like that. He wants to protect that smile for as long as he can, even if it means playing with fire.

When Yusaku turned five, the villagers announced a witch hunt, one meant to draw out those ‘accursed occultists’ hiding away in the forest, to destroy them before they became tainted and mad with power, turning their backs on their measly humanity.

In no more than a week, wolf corpses littered the village’s main streets, stacked in towering piles and ready to be burned in purifying rituals.

The wolf disappeared then, but only for a few days. Clearly in hiding.

Yusaku was fast asleep when the wary man slammed the door before the wolf’s nose, cutting off its only means of escape, eyebrows pinched.

The wolf’s fur puffed up with indignation, fangs glinting in warning, ready to fight for its life if needed, but the man only sighed and leaned against the thin door, unbearably tired.

“I know what you are, Magus,” he whispered into the dimly lit room, rubbing at his burning eyes. “I know that you can understand me. I will not ask much of you and I won’t deny you the right of coming back here again because you are dear to Yusaku, but please, promise me this – if they come here in search for you, I want you to leave immediately, run as far and as fast as you can. Hide and do not come back until it’s safe to do so. I will not risk the safety of my boy, not for some… bizarre attachment like yours.” The wolf growled then, low and angry. Bemused and far too used to the wolf’s humanoid antics, the man rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Give me some sign that you understand what I’m saying,” he demanded while the magus kept steady eye contact with him.

In the darkness of the room, its eyes lit up bright blue, gradually shifting to a blinding cyan – a display of magic and a mutual consensus.

“Okay,” the man’s shoulder sagged in overwhelming relief, “good. I trust you.”

The wolf huffed, ears drooping a little.

Foolish men and their blind yet fragile trust in the ‘higher beings’ that they do not understand.

* * *

 

Yusaku dreams.

He’s standing on a naked cliff. Everything is dyed in slate grey hues – almost as though the world has suddenly lost all of its color. He isn’t afraid, though – this isn’t his first visit to this dreamed up mountain range, one he’s never seen in real life. Isn’t that odd? He remembers Father saying something about the inability to dream up the sceneries that you’ve never visited.

Yusaku looks up at the rain-heavy clouds and waits, walking towards the edge of the nearest plummeting cliff. He looks down at the gaping void and amuses himself by throwing a pebble. Yusaku cannot hear it collide with anything whatsoever, or reach the void’s bottom, for that matter.

Sometimes, he wonders if there’s a ‘bottom’ to begin with.

_“Yusaku.”_

The voice is familiar. With an easy smile, Yusaku gets up from his crouch and looks at the white-haired boy standing before him. Today he’s fidgeting, pale fingers playing with the colorless material of his shirt.

It's easy to tell that something’s wrong. Yusaku’s grin drops immediately, replaced by a concerned frown. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

The boy lowers his head. Yusaku cannot see his face – for that matter, he never can, always unable to make out discernible features other than the heart-shaped face and the bouncy white hair.

“Hey… it’s okay…” Yusaku mumbles, taking a pacifying step closer. “Tell me what’s wrong? We can fix it. Together,” he reassures earnestly, offering the kid a hand despite the fair amount of distance.

The figure remains quiet.

Yusaku can make out light shivers racing up and down the white-haired boy’s body. To quell them, he clutches at the pale material of the loose shirt.

The white noise that follows the action is unbearably loud in Yusaku’s ears when the kid opens his mouth and whispers a mournful _“I’m sorry.”_

“For what –” Yusaku begins, but the confusion doesn’t last long before a deafening rumble overpowers his hearing, coming from everywhere all at once. Gasping at the abrupt noise, Yusaku covers his ears, squinting. Tremors shake the cold stone below his feet, vibrating. Singing.

The ground between them splits open with a loud shatter. The boy stands before the wreckage, still as ever, fists curled tight.

Afraid, Yusaku tries to reach out and tell the boy to jump to his side, to hold onto him, but his side of the cliff is the one that appears to be sinking into the bottomless void below, sharp rocks plummeting into the dark. Tears blur Yusaku’s vision as he yells in fright, reaches out to the figure, desperate.

“Help me! Please!” Yusaku screams at the top of his lungs, uselessly grasping at the air. The rock begins separating underneath his feet and then he squeals, terrified, looking up at the gray heavens above.

The kid is gone. Before darkness overtakes him completely, Yusaku sees a flash of a white tail disappearing between the boulders.

* * *

 

He wakes to the sounds of a collapsing structure, followed by a burst of hot air against the side of his face. There’s an orange blur trying to permeate his unnaturally heavy eyelids and Yusaku has a hard time peeling them open, gradually becoming more and more confused by the ensuing racket, distant voices and other various sounds blending together into an unpleasant melody.

He hears a strangled scream and feels the heat creeping closer, the latter making his survival instincts kick in full-force. The oxygen appears to be wearing thin, heavy with the scent of burning wood. Something singes his arm.

Yusaku’s blurry vision finally focuses, right on the glassy and unseeing eyes of Father’s brutally maimed remains.

The gruesome sight is one that he won’t forget for the rest of his life, burning itself into the core of his being, wringing a high-pitched scream out of his throat.

He’s in the backyard. The columns of the structure that was once their home cave in with a heavy groan and the entire second floor collapses, spewing embers and fanning the hellfire even further. The flames hungrily lap at the fresh wood, roaring.

Yusaku cannot find it in himself to peel away his gaze from his father’s destroyed body, bile rising up his throat. In his field of vision, he notices countless bulging eyes, shining in all colors of the rainbow and glowing even more intensely than fireflies in the meadows.

“Grab the child,” a deep voice commands from somewhere above. Yusaku feels his head yanked back as he is forced to stand to take in his surroundings. His eyes scan over the cloaked figures standing in a perfect semi-circle to his left and then the tree-line of the forest.

At least thirty wolves greet his tear-blurred sight, big and intimidating, akin to bears rather than canines. They howl at the red moon shining in the ashen sky. Another scream resounds from the forest but it’s cut short. Yusaku full-body trembles, eyes squeezing shut, teeth digging into his lower lip. He does not see his captor, only feels them yank harder on his bleeding scalp, tearing at the dark strands even further. Yusaku wants to make them stop, half-convinced that he’s still dreaming. The chanting gets louder in his ears.

Under his feet and what’s left of his father’s body, the lines of a ritual circle glow a faint blue before fading back into the blood-covered dirt. It sends a shiver down his spine, temporarily warming his shell-shocked being.

Something happens to his father’s corpse. His red-tinged eyes light up cyan and Yusaku screams, pleads, begs for mercy, for his life, tries to kick and punch his way out but his limbs are bound together, useless and chaffed by a thick rope. The captor is unrelenting, bending down to look at the child’s chalk-white face. Yusaku cannot make out their features – it almost feels as though he’s dreaming again, looking into that void, looking at that boy who left him at the cliff; but the pain is real and it hurts _so much_ , like pricks of lightning coursing down his bloodstream. Only the captor’s eyes are visible, two distinctive points of ethereal blue, so bright that Yusaku squints against them, coughing at the toxic gas emitted by the burning house.

“You want it to be over? You want me to stop?” the deep, male voice is ice-cold. Heartless. Yusaku’s sobbing worsens at the mere sound of it. “It’ll be over soon. It was a small price to pay. You’ll be our hero, boy.”

Yusaku hiccups, the word ‘hero’ grabbing at his throat just like the bile.

Sucked in by the blue, Yusaku barely registers something grasping at his pajama bottoms, staining it with something sticky.

“Yusaku…” his father’s wheezing, choked up voice comes from the ground and the trembling boy risks a quick glance at the corpse with glowing eyes; a formless mouth forming sentences. Father looks at him as though he feels no pain of his crushed windpipe sucking in the air. Yusaku backs into the cloaked figure, screaming and wailing – this isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t –

“Run,” father rasps before the cyan in his eyes dies out and it sends Yusaku into a state of shock so intense that he feels his vision black out. His body goes slack, tense muscles finally unravelling, mind unable to process everything at once and unable to keep on going. Pale spots dance beneath his eyelids when he passes out where he stands, going limp like a ragdoll at his captor’s disposal.

* * *

 

Every night, for six months, Ryoken suffers from overwhelming guilt.

His father tells him that it’s fine to feel the way he does – it’s only natural to feel sorry for the six innocent kids who are meant to be some sort messiahs for the entire magi kind – so Ryoken sucks it up and turns a blind eye to Yusaku’s suffering; the same boy he’d promised to protect and couldn’t. Didn’t even try to.

A measly dream spell meant to make the human boy sleep throughout the chaos occurring outside his room was Ryoken’s one and only mercy. It didn’t quite work either – Ryoken is only six, not yet started with proper magi training, thus unable to control his magik – the spell had waned off right before the grand climax. He hates himself for being unable to do more, feels his stomach knot up at the memory of a screaming Yusaku trashing about on the sacrificial ritual circle, begging for someone, anyone, to help his already dead father.

Sometimes, when Ryoken can’t take any more of the kids’ tortured screams, he shifts back to his human form and stumbles outside, curls up into a tight ball and presses his palms flat against his ears. He doesn’t hear then – can pretend that none of this is happening. There are some perks to being human, he figures, having spent most of his childhood as a wolf.

His father tells him that he’s far too young to understand the importance of having a human form, of the duality that comes naturally to all magi alike. He’s young, therefore he doesn’t have to worry about losing his sanity to his animal form just yet, and he won’t have to for a very long time.

If father’s ritual succeeds – perhaps never.

The other Knights tell him that it’s what the gracious Goddess Hanoi wants for them, that this event has been foretold a very long time ago and that the magi cannot continue going against the cruel fate and destiny any longer – the sooner they perform the summoning of The Six, the faster they can break away from their curse and go about their lives as not quite humans, but better than they were before. Much better.

His noble father wants to free the cursed magi and save his kind. Save himself, and the son whom he loves so dearly. So Ryoken _believes him_ , puts his faith into the Goddess, and turns a blind eye on Yusaku’s suffering. _It’s for the best_ , he tries to convince himself. _You shouldn’t feel bad. You did the right thing._ It wasn’t _Ryoken’s_ fault that Yusaku just happened to have an unnaturally high amount of magik stored in his being.

It’s not his fault that Yusaku is meant to perish, used as a vessel for one of The Six.

Still, his heart weighs heavy once he sneaks into the hallway which leads to the Goddess’ Chamber, and through a crack in the heavy door, Ryoken catches a glimpse of Yusaku’s lifeless eyes, right when they unstrap him from the altar.

He looks _dead_ , almost as though his mind has long since left his tiny, frail, _human_ body. It hurts Ryoken to see the other like this, the knowledge that he isn’t the only one going through these ‘pain tolerance-heightening’ rituals making it all that much worse and his guilt twice as heavy.

It’s a burden that he cannot force himself to bear any longer, salvation or not.

Sometimes, he wakes up drenched in cold sweat, _that man’s_ voice ceaselessly echoing in his head. “Keep Yusaku safe” – it continues looping over and over again, louder with every passing second.

It’s enough for Ryoken to see _Yusaku’s insides_ right before the Knights start showering him in healing spells to decide that he’s had enough.

 _“Forgive me, father,”_ the wolf apologizes as it runs at full speed, honey-hued meadows passing by in the blink of an eye. In the horizon, Ryoken can already make out the dark shapes of trees guarding Yusaku’s village.

* * *

 

Shoichi stumbles out of the barn, cursing at the dusk, the night fast-approaching. Lately, he’s been slacking off, but after the tragedy that’d hit their village six months ago, his boss is no longer as strict, letting the teen take some time off and counting out nothing from his pay. The man’s already nice enough for letting Shoichi stay at his farm until the boy comes of age and finally manages to get his footing, asking for very little in return – a few extra hours in the fields.

Over the months, Shoichi has learned to manage the seemingly excessive workload, getting a better hang of scheduling his time. For more than three months now he hasn’t seen or heard from a single friend of his, willingly and wholeheartedly throwing himself into mind-numbing work, the routine helping him cope with the tragedy that struck his family.

Not today, though.

He still has to run his rounds at the chicken coop, so Shoichi dashes across the cattle-trimmed field but never quite makes it to the other building of the farm.

A boy stands in his path, skin and hair so pale that he nearly blends into the pastel blue sky of the dusk, his outline barely visible. If Shoichi hadn’t accidentally glanced a little more towards the left, he’s certain that he would’ve missed him.

The boy slowly approaches him, a bit cautious. Shoichi knows that he’s not from the Den village – privately, he thinks to himself that he would’ve noticed a resident with that shade of hair ages ago. A little confused, Shoichi tries to force out a polite smile, eyebrows furrowing. No one’s out here except for him – the rest of the farm workers have retired for the night.

“Can I help you?” Shoichi begins but the kid cuts him off immediately.

“You are Jin Kusanagi’s brother.” It’s said like a statement rather than a question. Shoichi feels his insides freeze up at the mention of his baby brother as he walks closer to the boy, anxious.

“That- that’s me,” he stutters, nervously licking his lips. “Are you his –”

The kid is fast to back away, clearly uneasy. “Your brother,” he starts and his blue eyes avert to the side, hesitant. Shoichi can see the kid gnawing at his lower lip as if mentally preparing to say something groundbreaking. Shoichi’s breath hitches and _stops altogether_ , lungs feeling too tight in his ribcage, “is alive. He’s being held in captivity,” the white-haired kid quickly carries on before the older Kusanagi can utter a single word, eyes blown wide, “if you wish to see him again, gather every man you can find in this village. Take every weapon, every protective charm and item. You have one hour,” the boy finishes his speech, already turning away and walking towards the cluster of the droopy sunflower stems that tower above his head. “Look for a guide at the southern entrance to the forest. Do not be late.”

Shoichi blinks and the kid disappears, as though a figment of imagination.

* * *

 

The forest gets engulfed by torchlight as an angry, organized mob marches through it, carrying pitchforks in one hand and protective stones or other tokens in the other. It is led by a quivering yet determined, lanky teen who is guided by a pacing white wolf.

* * *

 

_“Hey, you. Think of three things to survive. Three things to live.”_

Yusaku feels his vision return to him for the first time in ages. Outside, he hears the sounds of commotion.

“Yusaku!” Someone shakes him into semi-awareness, but Yusaku hardly feels it, desensitized to touch. “Wake up! You have to get up and run.”

There are sweaty hands on his cheeks, grip tight but not bad enough to bruise. His vision swims and dances and Yusaku sees double until he doesn’t, met by crystalline blue and white.

“Run,” the boy of his dreams commands, eyes glittering with starlight to the point they appear to be glowing, so unbearably real. Yusaku swears that he’s dreaming when the mirage boy unlocks the final chain and tugs him out of the cell.

* * *

 

_“Three things to live.”_

“Pup…” Yusaku sighs at the blur of white, the familiar softness of the fur. There’s weeping, somewhere to his side. Voices.

The white creature moves away, a bit unsteady. Yusaku isn’t sure if he’s standing upright, seated, or lying, only able to focus on the fact that the warmth and safety, the first that he’s felt in god knows how long, is leaving.

_“We’ll meet again. I promise.”_

And it’s gone, swallowed up by pitch-black.

* * *

 

Yusaku startles into awareness at the sound of the Ignis’ annoying yowling.

“Fuck, what now?” Yusaku tiredly groans, head heavy with the lack of sleep. His cheek hurts where it’s been digging into a heavy, occultist shit-themed tome. Apparently, foregoing rest for four days straight makes one crash at the most improbable places and poses.

“You’ve got an indent on your cheek now, Yu-sa-ku,” Ai giggles to himself like a creepy little wraith that he is, “How adorable,” he then coos, and, not for the first time, the teenager wishes that the shithead had the ability to develop a material form so that he could strangle it. Instead, he’s stuck with a blob of off-purple aura accented by a golden, creepily-hovering yet sublimely expressive eye. Yusaku has to make do – whenever he waves at the fart cloud of toxic gas hard enough, Ai occasionally calls him rude.

“Was there a point to any of this or were you just trying to be your usual obnoxious self?” Yusaku growls, massaging at the angry pink welt shining on his cheek, wishing for it to disappear. He’s not about to go outside with the words “The Legend Of The Tower Of Hanoi” inscribed on the side of his face.

“You’ve been napping away for three hours now, Yusaku!” Ai noisily complains, exaggeratedly rolling his single, annoying eye. “I got bored.”

“You got bored,” Yusaku parrots back in a deadpan, frown deepening.

Ai seemingly notices what this might indicate, rushing to correct himself. “Your dreamcatchers are breaking again.” He floats around the dozen-something, colorful feather and copper wire adorned objects meant to ward off Yusaku’s bizarre dreams. The largest one has three cracks in its massive wooden frame. The rune-covered beads look seconds away from falling out – Yusaku figures that it would’ve been a rude awakening regardless of the Ignis’ ‘help’.

All in all, it’s fucking strange.

“That can’t be right,” Yusaku mutters to himself rather than his companion, checking out the poor thing. “I got it a month ago. Usually they last three or more.” Carefully, he turns over the wooden carcass, only to have it shatter in his hands. He checks the rest of his collection – the older ones seem close to following their big counterpart’s fate. He turns to the translucent cloud of purple, staring daggers, “Was I talking in my sleep?”

“Just the usual amount, Yusaku,” Ai chirps. “Why? Did you dream again?”

Something heavy and warm rests in the pit of Yusaku’s stomach. He then tries to remember his dream but is met by a blank instead – for the life of him, he cannot recall anything of grave importance, almost as though there’s something jamming his thoughts. “I don’t know,” he confesses to the very concerned looking the Ignis. “I might’ve. It’s all a blur.”

“You should tell Kusanagi,” Ai says resolutely, his eye inspecting the bright blue feathers of a silver ringlet. The Ignis squints at it as though seeing something that Yusaku’s mortal eyes cannot. As if sensing residue magik. “He’ll hook you up with more.”

“You already know that these are crazy expensive. I’ll make do.”

“But –”

Yusaku ignores him, “Where is he anyways?” He stands to stretch, back popping in several places. His neck feels too stiff to feel like a body part rather than a painful sore.

“Working himself to the bone, as usual. Said he’ll be back in time for dinner, though! He wanted to make your favorite.”

The words sting a little. Time and time again, Yusaku has tried to convince his unofficial guardian that he’s more than capable of fending for himself, but Shoichi never listened, reassuring Yusaku that all he had to do was focus on their mission and nothing else. Yusaku isn’t the only one desperate to get closure.

Yusaku isn’t the one with a vegetative brother on his hands, nor is he the one who had to come back from a friendly sleepover to a destroyed home and a slaughtered family.

“If you two want to have some… quality alone time, just say the word, dear Yusaku,” Ai croons, eye squinting in glee and uncalled for perversions. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

“How about you leave _now_ ,” Yusaku sighs out, equal parts disgruntled and annoyed – the only two emotions that the pestering Ignis manages to invoke in him. “God, if you could simply up and disappear back to your plane of existence, that would be wonderful,” Yusaku says dryly. It makes the Ignis gasp. “Would make our life way easier and solve at least seventy percent of our problems.”

“But who would fill in as your wonderful love advice partner, Partner?”

“Do you want me to put another silencing spell on you, Ignis?” Yusaku growls a threat and Ai’s floaty fart being quivers at the mere implication.

“No, Sir.”

* * *

 

He and Kusanagi are no longer the way they used to be – wary of each other and reluctant to interact. Yet, sometimes, Yusaku still thinks that Kusanagi resents him in that masked, non-malicious way of his. Quietly blaming the sole survivor of the attack launched against their village – there were two kids kidnapped in total, one from the Fujiki household and one from the Kusanagi – and overwhelmed by the constant mantra of “Why him? Why not Jin? Why why why?”

It’s pretty apparent in the way his face drops whenever Yusaku tells Kusanagi that he’s found no new leads on how to send Ai back to the Goddess’ side, that the last ones have led him nowhere. That for every second that the Ignii spend on the mortal plane, Jin remains unable to return to his body, stuck wandering between the worlds. The only consolation that Ai can give is that the spirit world isn’t all that bad.

Summoning rituals of this caliber tend to expel human souls in favor of harboring spirits in the empty shells that they leave behind. It’s already a miracle in itself that Yusaku has managed to escape from that magi Den with his body still intact.

It’s only natural for Yusaku and Kusanagi to coexist in harmony, driven by the same goals – Yusaku is solely focused on his revenge against the ones responsible for his father’s death and the six months of gruesome torture, meanwhile, Kusanagi’s fighting for the return of his brother’s soul. The former wonders if the older man views him in the same way that Yusaku views Ai – begrudgingly accepting the apparition into his life as a companion because there is no other choice.

It’s hard to admit to it, but without Ai’s magic and knowledge, they’d be pretty lost.

Tonight Kusanagi is clearly not in the mood for further discussion, excusing himself early on. Ai buzzes off as well after Yusaku snaps, hissing that he is unwilling to burden the older man with his insignificant dreamcatcher problems.

Frustrated, Yusaku finished up cleaning the dishes and then storms outside, plopping down on the staircase leading to the terrace.

The painfully familiar forest stretches out before him. Even the backyard of their new, tiny house is styled in the exact same way as Yusaku’s old home. It’s where he comes to think, reminiscence. The constant remembrance of his tragedy fuels him to keep on going even if the road ahead is covered in thorns, seemingly impossible to cross. Endless, stretching out for miles and miles. But Yusaku believes. After failing to get over his trauma, it’s the only thing that keeps him going.

His harsh past and the plaguing thoughts of _that boy_ , the one who helped him escape. The boy of his childhood dreams.

Yusaku remembers slipping, falling over due to the weak muscles of his legs, remembers that kid urging him to keep going, keep _walking_ and thinking of reasons to live, only to be ripped away from him in the end.

Yusaku doesn’t believe in guardian spirits. But his and Kusanagi’s experiences with that white-haired ghost seem to match – in the end, he’s unsure what to think. He’d always seemed too ethereal to exist as a human being.

He does, however, believe in wolves. In shifters. In _magi._

Yusaku believes in rumors that involve real facts and truths. Trusts in the hushed stories involving a giant white wolf the size of a grown bear, one that keeps appearing in the dead of the night to save its own kin from damnation, readily setting villages and towns ablaze whenever it meets any sort of resistance or hostility. Believes in the Fanged Justice and the White Beast of the North, more known among the locals as ‘the Diviner’ – a magus of unparalleled power, seeking things unknown, while freeing enslaved magi all across the continent, releasing more and more crazed hordes into the world.

Yusaku listens to those recent tales and tries to think rationally. White wolves are extremely rare in this continent, magi – even more so. Yusaku knows that all of this could be an unfortunate coincidence, but there’s always a worm of doubt wriggling inside his guts whenever he hears of the Diviner’s most recent deeds, all of them wrapped up in mystery.

* * *

 

 _He_ comes to him in his dreams.

On the rare occasions his mind chooses not to replay the nightmares, Yusaku’s sceneries remain bleak as ever, filled with monochrome hues and an unsettling type of stillness, void of life. Yusaku never sees Him, not fully, but he knows that He’s there, can sense His lingering presence and can tell that He’s only chasing away those bad dreams in favor of actually reaching out and talking to Yusaku for reasons unknown. Like some sort of foreign guardian that had started appearing more than a year ago.

Yusaku _resents_ it, thus the dreamcatchers.

Ai tells him that it’s called dream-walking magik, one that’s impossible to perform by small-caliber magi, but this man appears to be on a league of his own. Yusaku thinks that the other is simply spying on him. Trying to seek out the Ignis’ presence, just like the rest of the magi foolish enough to try and hunt down Yusaku - the guy who’s actually managed to forge a bond with the Ignis. Ai protects him without Yusaku asking for it because he believes in Yusaku’s infinite potential, in his drive and his firm words whenever he says “I’m going to send you back home.” It’s a promise between them, one that’s yet to fail.

Ai cannot be sensed when Yusaku is asleep because they’re two separate beings cohabitating the same space, nowhere close to being soul-bound. Yet that man _persists_ , pissing Yusaku off with every casual, lurking visit and his superior, nightmare-cancelling trick.

He remembers talking to him once.

Never again.

He’s not interested in conversing with people entering his dreams without consent – Yusaku already did that before, and look where it’s gotten him. He only wishes for the red-haired creep to take a hint.

He watches a rare dream involving Ai playing out in a swirl of muted color before him and nearly reels when he feels those white-gloved fingers closing around his wrist like a vice, tearing him out of the seemingly innocent dream by force. Today, they’re back on _the cliff_. Half of it is missing, the part still standing marred with cracks.

Yusaku wrenches his hand away, profoundly disturbed. “What kind of sick joke is this?” he demands, too queasy to look in the direction of the void. “That’s going way too far.”

“You have it,” the man states in a form of greeting, voice dripping an emotion that Yusaku cannot quite understand nor does he really bother to decipher it. _He_ steps into Yusaku’s personal space, gold eyes gleaming, predatory.

Today he doesn’t speak in sentences that hold nothing but double meanings, right to the point. “Meet me. I can give you the answers that you seek,” he whispers. His deep voice has a note of begging to it. Longing, perhaps.

There’s a touch on the inside of Yusaku’s scarred wrist. A shiver races down the teenager’s spine in return and he takes a cautious step back, feeling oddly trapped. Toyed with.

The red-haired man cloaked in pure white continues, pupil-less, molten gold eyes darting to places that Yusaku cannot see. It’s goddamn unsettling and downright creepy, but he tries to hold his ground and appear completely unaffected. Stone-faced. “I know that you’re stuck. I can almost _feel you_ bumping into the walls. I can set you free. I think you know that very well. It’s high time for us to stop playing around – I’ve grown quite tired of chasing you around.” He’s tired, frustrated by Yusaku’s childish behavior, reluctance.

“I’m uninterested in traps, thanks,” Yusaku, the smart one, coldly declines the devil’s offer and the man clicks his tongue in annoyance in return, hand closing around Yusaku’s wrist once again. There’s desperation twisting up his handsome face. Yusaku wants to say something meaningful and brutal, but finds himself at a loss of words, too busy taking in the raw emotion painting the stranger’s usually composed face - the first display of _actual feelings_ since they’ve met inside the dreamscape.

“I can take you to _him_ ,” he forces out with an angered hiss. It comes out pained and oddly familiar. Yusaku’s eyes widen, breath hitching.  “A prisoner you may be, he, too, is chained to his fate. If you listen to me, you can be together again – just for a short while. Your heart yearns, Yusaku,” the man mutters and Yusaku swears that he can almost see _that boy_ standing before him once again, he can almost pretend that it’s him who is holding onto his hand with careful fingers, a silent reassurance. A nasty trick, sending him a vision like that. Playing along with it, imitating his touch. “Stop denying yourself.”

Shaken, Yusaku forgets to fight back, eyes searching for lies, finding none. He feels oddly cold when he gazes over a white-clad shoulder and finds no one there, the boy already gone, a figment of magik and his imagination. It may have been years since they last saw each other, but the lack of the boy’s presence has made Yusaku wake up drenched in cooling sweat more than once. Where is he? Is he still watching over him, guiding him? He wants to know what happened to him. If he and his wolf are one and the same. If he, dare Yusaku hope, is the rumored Diviner, the magi who’s always worked alone despite the magi pack dynamics but was beginning to gain new followers – mainly the dozens of magi that he’d saved from the deadly judgement of the cruel humans.  The one who can supposedly make it rain fire and bring about blizzards. Destroy a lesser village with a single howl at the moon.

“He’s wanted to see you for so long,” the red-haired man continues to spin semi-convincing lies and truths, looking horribly affected all the while. “Alas, he cannot. He’s been drained of will, no longer the one you knew all those years ago.”

Yusaku hesitates. Takes in a shaky breath to steel himself. Thinks about the boy. His wolf. The rumors sweeping over the lands like a hurricane and the fact that this may very well be a trap, but he does not dream of the happier times of his past. Nor does he ever dream of the boy.

His mind’s a well-secured diary with a big lock to boot, and only Ai gets to use the keys whenever they have to look for hints and there is no other way. This man should have no knowledge of the boy and his significant presence, and yet.

“Where?” Yusaku breathes out.

The nameless man smirks, looking pleased and oddly relieved.

* * *

 

“This is bad, this is really _really_ bad,” Ai panics as the rest of Yusaku’s dreamcatchers shatter, engulfed by bursts of blue magik pouring out from the cracks. The Ignis nearly shrivels up at the overwhelming presence of a strong Magus inside the room. One he hasn’t felt in a very long time. “Wake up, Yusaku!” he tries to rouse the boy, fast asleep in his bed for once. The curtains billow from the strong gusts of silent wind.

Ai sees no other option than to zap Yusaku into awareness with his magik, but before he can charge the small bolt of purple lightning, the teen’s emerald eyes snap open and he sits up straight, breathing ragged.

He pays no attention to the mess of materials scattered on the cluttered desk, gaze wild when he tells Ai that he’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.

* * *

 

Overnight, the surrounding lands get covered in a fine layer of snow, making the villagers and Shoichi frown in confusion – it’s only the middle of October and the skies were clear the night before. The villagers gasp in fear, the Diviner’s name whispered in the streets, spreading like the plague – they must’ve wronged the magi somehow despite turning lenient to the shifters after the Fujiki-Kusanagi incident. Many have witnessed a young, snow white wolf growling at its kin and defending the six kids that were kidnapped from surrounding villages, protecting the Fujiki boy tooth and nail, eyes gleaming cyan and the air buzzing with static.

Yusaku takes it as a sign, a silent invitation, huddling up in warmer clothes, black and green-accented hood low over his eyes. He sneaks out the moment Kusanagi leaves for Den, using a pine branch to get rid of his footsteps because Ai refuses to magik them away. He insists for Yusaku to change his mind, keeps on rambling, so the teen decides to spare himself the trouble and confines the Ignis inside a silver orb, safely pocketing it.

Ai just wouldn’t understand. Yusaku is well-aware of the risks, having calculated them and all possible outcomes throughout the night as he watched the snow fall from a clear, cloudless sky, settling over the windowsills and burying Kusanagi’s late-blooming flowers under a thick layer of white. Ai doesn’t understand _human irrationality_ , Yusaku’s drive and his yearning for answers, closure. He wants to meet the one who saved him. Release them from this destiny, if he can. Be the one who does the saving, just this once.

The fallen, dry branches snap under the heels of Yusaku’s heavy boots – the only source of sound in the otherwise eerily calm forest. He hardly recalls the last time he’d strayed this far into the woods – after the kidnapping, the welcoming embrace of the towering pines simply didn’t feel the same. If anything, now they make Yusaku feel uneasy and wary of the sings of life.

The lack of sound is depressing but liberating in its own way. Subconsciously, Yusaku knows that he isn’t going to encounter any stray wolves or foxes, so he determinedly braves on, ignoring the shrubbery and tendril-like, low-hanging branches of leaner trees catching onto his cloak. As if warning him to turn on his heel and head back – it’s dangerous out here.

A snap of a twig makes Yusaku halt, eyes narrowing. He stops right before a sloping hill and waits for whoever it is that’s hiding on the other side and away from his field of vision to show themselves.

Silence stretches, long and deafening. Yusaku is quick to lose his hair-thin patience, not in the mood for foolish games. He can feel Ai struggling inside the orb, trying to warn him of the hostile presence emitting from the direction of the hill. “I know you’re out there,” the teen finally snaps, fingering at a short blade strapped to his thigh – not like it’s going to do him much good if this is truly the guy haunting his dreams.

“It seems that I’ve been found out,” a light, male voice responds to Yusaku’s accusatory tone, amused rather than threatened. “Make no mistake, though, it wasn’t my intention. I was merely waiting for you to come my way.”

Yusaku doesn’t outwardly react to the taunting meant to get a rise out of him. A young man steps into the view, and momentarily, Yusaku stops breathing, thinking that it might be the boy, but the other’s shade of hair is darker, eyes the wrong color of blue. Not him, then.

Shoulders sagging in what appears to be blinding disappointment, Yusaku straightens his back, forsaking the battle-ready stance. He never drops his guard, though. The stranger takes notice of the blatant shift in Yusaku’s mood, thin eyebrows crawling up his forehead, faintly entertained.

His curved smirk throws Yusaku off. “Are you the one?” the latter asks while the stranger laughs into a frost-bitten hand, mocking.

“This is the first time I hear that opener,” he snorts. Yusaku hates it – the guy is clearly looking down on him and not just in a literal way. “I commend you for your ability to articulate.”

“If you’re here to waste my time, lead me in circles and mess with me as you please while you watch from the sidelines – it’s not going to work,” Yusaku cuts to the chase, frustration picking up a whole notch. He should’ve known. A trap. He fingers at Ai’s orb, ready to unleash the Ignis to deal with this… man.

“Oh, but,” the said man reaches the peak of the cliff, gray pants sinking into the snow, tainting it somehow, “I’m afraid that it’s already worked. It’s good to know that there are still some brave humans left in our world, ones who’d willingly rush headfirst into their demise after having their dreams tampered with. It’s sad,” the man shrugs with a huff and a supposedly dejected shake of his head, “but admirable, Yusaku Fujiki.”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Yusaku declares, not one bit frightened by the strange guy. His heart stings – that’s what he gets for _hoping_. “There’s nothing for me here –”

The guy’s faux friendly act dissolves in an instant, face clouding as he hisses out a hateful “You ungrateful bastard,” as though personally offended. “For years, he’s been going out of his way to see you, to watch you from a distance – how dare you stand before me and imply that coming here was meaningless? Run away, if it means nothing to you. Run like a coward and wait for us to hunt you down, Fujiki.”

Yusaku stares up at the man, even, meeting his gaze head on, indifferent to the emotional outburst. A chill races down his spine, but Yusaku doesn’t back away nor does he cower or look away.

The guy scoffs, a bit less intensely. “I will never accept it,” he says, oddly calm. “But it’s not my place to judge.”

With a flick of a wrist and a dramatic turn, he steps aside, bowing at the waist, just barely.

A distant, purring growl reaches Yusaku’s ears. It carries in the forest, loud and clear, much like an early-rising bird song at the crack of dawn. The location seems impossible to pinpoint, so Yusaku whirls around, wide eyes flickering to the naked trees and the towering pines, rotting stumps covered in frost and moss. There are no signs of animals anywhere, crystal-white snow unblemished with the exception of Yusaku’s trail.

Ai’s orb heats up in his pocket, producing clicking sounds, almost as if the Ignis trapped inside is hitting himself against his temporary prison’s walls, trying to bust out in order to save Yusaku from an unseen beast.

Yusaku snaps his head in the man’s direction who now watches him with a steady, cool look, that nasty smirk still tugging at his lips.

The snow at the very top of the hill _moves_ , shifts, shimmers in blinding white. Yusaku gapes as the spot rises and approaches, quickly gaining features – ones of a towering wolf with cold, glowing cyan eyes and bared fangs. Yusaku’s eyes are glued to its powerful muscles flexing under the thick layer of soft fur, the wolf threading the same path that the man had left behind – he is only barely taller than the massive beast standing on its fours.

Ai nearly burns Yusaku’s leg through the thick material of his dark pants but the human can’t even feel it, can’t bother to peel his fixed gaze away from that magnificent creature, lower lip quivering, mouth slightly agape.

Something painful tugs at his chest once he notices the all-too-familiar smudges of black around the wolf’s thick neck, marring its otherwise perfect, snow-white fur.

The magus holds Yusaku’s gaze for a beat too long before snarling, eyes glowing even brighter.

The teen doesn’t even get to blink before the abrupt surge of strong magik knocks him unconscious, right where he stands.

* * *

 

Yusaku wakes up feeling unnaturally warm and content, body covered in furs.

He’s unsure as to where he is, but his first assumption is underground – there are no windows to speak of with the exception of a circular, glass latch located on the ceiling, the only indicator that it’s still daytime – or at least still bright outside – and telling Yusaku that he hasn’t been conked out for _too long_.

The… _den_ smells of stuffy incense and the air is heavily charged with magik, most of it emitting from the protective trinkets stacked above the hole-in-the-wall, sad excuse for a fireplace. It provides warmth and light, illuminating Yusaku’s bearings – the mountain of expensive-looking pillows stacked underneath him and functioning as a makeshift bed, dark walls. The place in itself doesn’t seem to be lived in, lacking something vital, personality. Yusaku figures that it functions as an underground shelter of sorts – the place where the owner can perform his magik rituals in peace, undisturbed by the surrounding world.

Yusaku peels off the remaining pelts twined around his legs and wastes no time in getting up – no one but him is inside the spacious den. He has no intentions of waiting around for someone to show up, ready to set out and search the other rooms by himself.

As if sensing the human’s consciousness returning to him, the giant wolf chooses that moment to make its presence known, entering the low-ceiling room. The gleam of its eerie eyes is still visible even in the pitch-black darkness looming over the formless exit. Yusaku stills, fingers curled in the hood of his hastily-laced cloak, breath batted as the beast approaches, slow and almost lazy. That purring growl once more rumbles deep and low in its throat like trapped thunder.

The fire burns brighter before suddenly losing most of its volume, lapping away at blackened wood. Yusaku doesn’t get to see it turn red and then purple, finally settling on dark orange, his undivided attention focused elsewhere.

The figure that emerges from the mysterious darkness of the cave and straight into the small patch of circular light shining from above is anything but beast-like. Yusaku’s roaming stare follows a pale, long limb – a _human_ leg – travelling to the thick, huge pelt draped over the man’s naked shoulders like some bizarre white cloak, shielding his toned body from the rest of the world. Up the prominent collarbones, lean neck, handsome face. The ethereal blue eyes, a shade that Yusaku’s never seen before; his dreams and decade-old memories pale in comparison, unable to recreate the beauty and the starlight of those irises.

The bouncy white hair, the color of freshly-fallen snow and first-bloom snowbells in the spring, streaked indigo blue.

For a long while, the two just stand there, curiously peering and drinking in each other’s features – it’s been more than _ten long years,_ and while they’ve undeniably changed, _grown up_ , somehow they still remained the same – Yusaku’s emerald eyes continue to stand out like no other, along with the haircut that’s stayed exactly the same, just like Ryoken remembers it. There’s something about this human in particular and his bizarrely prominent presence that would make Ryoken instantly recognize him in a crowded room, even with his eyes closed. But at the same time, Yusaku has grown into quite a looker in every way imaginable; the way he holds himself is significantly more confident, self-assured. He’s no longer that broken child meant to be sacrificed to the Goddess Hanoi.

Over time, those nasty wounds have healed, leaving behind scars; pale and barely visible but still _there_ – splitting Yusaku’s right eyebrow in half and the corner of his upper lip. Multiple scratches on his slightly crooked nose and high cheekbones.

Some twisted part of Ryoken, the one he’s been denying for ages, wants to reach out and feel the uneven scar tissue, magik away the imperfections, old as they are. Yusaku doesn’t need any markers of _those months_.

Meanwhile, Yusaku drinks in the sight before him like a dehydrated man, for once at a complete loss of words and creative ideas, unsure as to what he should do next. Ryoken’s fang earrings catch the light when he gracefully moves out of the circle, brushing past Yusaku’s thunderstruck form. The latter turns to follow the white-haired magus with his eyes, afraid that the other might disappear into a wispy string of incense smoke, like this is yet another dream conjured up by Yusaku’s desperate and lonely mind.

He wants to avert his gaze when Ryoken elegantly drops the pearly-white wolf pelt, back turned to Yusaku. He doesn’t disappear, nor does he show any intention of doing so anytime soon, fishing out a pair of pants instead. _He’s real and he’s here._

“I knew that it was you,” Yusaku whispers. Ryoken’s back muscles move and shift under that pale skin stretched taut over them when he moves to lace the drawstrings, still turned away. As if afraid to look Yusaku in the eye. “A part of me always did. The moment I heard about the Diviner.” Ryoken halts then, tensing. “I thought that it was too convenient to be a mere coincidence. You still have them – your smudges,” Yusaku points out, rather awkwardly. “The rumors never fail to point them out.”

Ryoken continues dressing up, thoughtful. A bit on the quiet side, Yusaku deducts, but finds that he doesn’t care. He’s not exactly talkative either – hasn’t been for the last ten years. Smiling is a rarity nowadays, and if his lips just happen to curl upwards at inappropriate times, it only serves to creep out the others. “I thought you might,” Ryoken says, non-committal. He’s still yet to lift his face, pale strands obscuring the angular profile. “I wasn’t exactly trying to hide away from you in particular.”

Yusaku huffs a laugh. Right.  “The dreams?” he asks a little curiously and then proceeds to gape when he notices a tinge of pink permeating the back of the magus’ long neck.

He shifts his weight, embarrassed. Doesn’t speak for a very long time. “I was obsessed with seeing you, just for a short while,” Ryoken quietly admits to it because now they’re _together_ and they won’t get another shot at this – decent conversations and casualness.

“And the red-haired man? That was you as well, wasn’t it?”

Ryoken nods, fixing the cuffs of his white shirt.

“Why?” Yusaku comes closer to the taller figure, fingers twitching, wishing to reach out and touch. But he can’t, not yet. “You could’ve come back. Shown yourself before me the way you’re doing right now. Told me who you are.”

With a tired sigh, the white-haired man finally finds the courage to look Yusaku in the eye. The latter is overwhelmed by the cyan glow of those starlit irises once more – he’s never going to get used to that, is he? “After everything that I did? To you, to this land. Do you have the slightest idea as to how much effort and mental fortitude it’s taken me to finally see you? To try and contact you? I wanted to turn my back on you the same way I did back then, but I couldn’t. Not again, Yusaku.” Ryoken places himself in the latter’s personal space, eyes burning with the heat of magik and something else entirely – shame, sadness. Yusaku makes no move to back off. “Everything is my fault. Your father found me and, in turn, they found you through me. I should’ve stopped seeing you when I still had the chance. It’s my fault that the Ignii are now free and we’re still under this wretched curse,” Ryoken fists the nearly translucent material of his shirt, sharp canines digging into his lower lip. “They never intended to save us to begin with. Everything was for naught, my father’s noble aspirations, the senseless torture and the kidnappings. I killed him that night, I killed half of my clan by leading that mob to our doorstep. I deserved to be cast out and banished for my crimes and I certainly deserve to live out the remainder of my days with this curse – to lose myself to the wolf side when the time comes.”

The last sentence singes Yusaku to the depths of his soul – the magi existence is anything but fair. Viewed as occultists and witches, shunned by the rest of society, the magi only wanted to live out their short lives in peace as part wolves and part humans - unable to fully belong to either one of those two worlds. Yusaku has spent hours upon hours researching the stories and the legends, feeling bad for the magik-users. He can see why the Diviner’s father might’ve thought his cause to be ideal and selfless – he only wanted to remove the curse of the gradual magik degradation which brought upon insanity to his kin as they grew older and older. There was nothing wrong with wanting freedom.

And yet, Yusaku finds that he cannot bear to forgive those magi, good intentions or not.

The Diviner, though… “That’s not true,” Yusaku says with every bit of determination that he can muster, eyebrows pinched. “You saved us, saved my life. You deserve to be free, have a place to return to. You have a good heart.” Without much thought, the human places his right palm on the magus’ solid chest – it’s real and warm. He can feel a hint of the white-haired boy’s thundering heartbeat. “Despite being cast out for your traitorous acts, you still go out of your way to help your kin. You even went against your father,” Ryoken sucks in a harsh breath at that, canines glinting, “to help some tortured kids despite knowing that the summoning of the six Ignii was the only shot at lifting the curse. You saved me and I want to be the one to save you in return. I want to,” Yusaku steels his resolve, face heating up a little at his bold claims, “I want to be your place to return to. I want us to grasp a new future together.”

A ghost of some indecipherable emotion passes over the Diviner’s handsome face, gone in the blink of an eye. His expression turns closed off and he removes Yusaku’s hand, averting his gaze. He seems far younger than he truly is when he guiltily steps back, shoulders stiff and mouth pressed into a thin line. “No,” he says with a firm shake of his head, “this is where we’ll be parting ways. I cannot afford to see you again.” Ryoken’s stare is sharp when Yusaku opens his mouth to protest, stomach sinking. “You’re nothing but a distraction. I regret saving you. I regret betraying my clan,” his voice is void of emotion when he rattles it off, as though practiced. “I regret betraying father. But I also regret leaving you behind back then. One night is all I can give you. Either you take it or leave right now,” Ryoken says with a note of finality, his conditions hanging heavy in the air between them.

Yusaku doesn’t have to be told twice, already reaching out to the skittish magus before him. The Diviner is warm against his front, arms useless and hovering, reluctant to hug the human back. Yusaku presses himself against the magus tighter, cheek resting on a strong shoulder. He smells like winter, Yusaku notes, like nature and wood. Dust. Burning incense.

Like Yusaku’s wolf.

“This feels like a dream,” he mumbles to no one in particular. The Diviner is yet to hug him back, body stiff with surprise. His nod of ascent is barely visible. “Tell me your name.”

“You already know the ones I go by, or rather, the ones your kind calls me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Ryoken,” the white-haired magus whispers eventually, like a secret shared between them, and finally gives in to his shunned feelings, gingerly holding the human boy back, awkward and a little shy. He presses the side of his head against Yusaku’s and they stay like this for a while, unwilling to part just yet. “It’s Ryoken.”

“I forgive you,” Yusaku resolutely tells him before stepping into Ryoken’s front, towards the mess of pillows and pelts.

Ryoken’s breath catches in his throat with a loud hitch, but he says nothing, settling for sitting down and taking Yusaku with him.

* * *

 

Night comes soon after, and the Diviner moves closer to the sleeping man sharing his bed, fingers curled into the white fur of Ryoken’s pelt. For once, he seems completely at peace, breathing silent and even, long eyelashes casting faint shadows over pale, marred skin. Ryoken thinks that he could spend an eternity just looking at Yusaku’s sleeping, curled up form, legs tangled in animal pelts and his cloak.

The fire is nothing but embers inside the fireplace, magik-covered incense burned out. Yusaku mumbles something and moves closer to Ryoken’s lean form, fingers almost touching the magus’ wrist.

The Diviner’s human side _aches_ while his inner wolf growls at him to hurry the hell up and be done with this already. He’s already prepared for this moment, magik heavy in the stuffy air, gradually tiring the human boy out.

The Ignis is his to take, the last missing puzzle piece to complete the bloody ritual.

He doesn’t want to. He really, really doesn’t, but there’s no other choice. He is going to kill the beings that betrayed him and his father, the rest of the magi. He wants to pull the Ignii apart, make them feel the pain he does.

(He could’ve stolen the Ignis the first chance he got without waiting for Yusaku to come to it.)

Yet, above all else, Ryoken wants this to be over. He wants to _live and move on._ With or without Yusaku by his side.

The Ignis cannot struggle without Yusaku’s awareness. He never would’ve thought that it might end up with the human boy – the rest have scattered across the continent, hiding away from the Diviner’s wrath. After many years of searching, he’s managed to capture them, neatly sealed away with Spectre’s help.

He didn’t expect to find the final Ignis hanging around Yusaku – he just happened to stumble across the teen’s dreamscape at the most convenient time. Fate is cruel.

Guts twisting with anxiety and that all too familiar guilt, Ryoken’s fingers inch towards the pocket of the boy’s pants, right where that accursed Ignis rests in its silver orb prison. He casts one last look at Yusaku’s sleeping face and dips his fingers into the pocket, only to get his wrist trapped in a forceful hand.

“You don’t have to do this,” Yusaku says calmly, but the unrelenting hand shifts inwards, nearly twisting Ryoken’s wrist. For a human, the kid is strong. “This won’t solve anything and you know it.”

“It might not, but it’s going to give me closure. Let go,” Ryoken commands, voice cool and warning. Cyan filters into the corners of his vision, crackling.

“I won’t let you take Ai,” Yusaku frowns, still wrestling the appendage. Ryoken scoffs – of course he gave that hell creature a name. “I don’t want to fight you. Please,” he pleads and the white-haired magus stills, worrying at his lower lip.

He can’t. He has to. He needs to do this – to save himself. He’s come this far – he can’t let some pathetic human get in his way.

The magik crackles in the air, blue lightning and burning ozone. Ryoken says nothing, only glances Yusaku’s way – his answer. I’m sorry. I have to. It needs to be done.

“So be it,” the human grinds out through clenched teeth, hurt and betrayed. The Diviner snarls, inhuman, and Yusaku quickly drives his hand into the loose pocket, shattering the silver orb with his thumb.

The Ignis’ overwhelming presence momentarily drowns out the bursts of cyan as the world twists and turns around Yusaku, blurring out of focus. He hears Ryoken’s desperate “No!” echo in the dark and then gets his breath knocked right out of him as he lands in the backyard of his new home, coughing from the pain caused by the impact.

It takes a moment for him to find the strength to raise himself with jelly-like arms, head still spinning from the sudden change of scenery. He’s always hated Ai’s means of ‘fast transportation’, the said Ignis hovering above Yusaku’s form, complaining and scolding.

Woken up by the commotion ensuing outside, Shoichi runs out of the house, barefooted and disoriented, tugging on his coat while stumbling towards Yusaku’s unsteady form.

“What the hell happened!?” the older man demands, checking the teen for injuries. “You disappear off to nowhere without saying anything beforehand and now…” he sighs, effortlessly pulling Yusaku up to his feet.

The latter takes a moment to just breathe, foggy puffs of air coming out of his mouth. His surroundings feel deceptively quiet, like the calm before a huge storm. Overhead, the full moon shines a blinding white, hurting Yusaku’s too-dry eyes.

The forest is dark and mysterious, void of signs of life. Yusaku can’t bear to look at the tree-line for too long, mind replaying his last moments with the Diviner.

Deep down, he knew it’d come to this. His life was that shitty. Still, he can’t help but feel thankful for those languid hours that they’ve spent together, momentarily setting aside their roles and simply… being. Existing. He may not look forward to dealing with the Diviner in the near future, but he foolishly wishes to see _Ryoken_ again, if only for a short while; it’d be more than enough to just catch a single glimpse of him, shifted or not.

He wants them to be together. It’s hard and nearly goddamn impossible, but Yusaku wants it nonetheless, craves it more than his decade-old revenge, soothed by the knowledge that the man in charge of his torture has been dead for a very long time now. He wants to change Ryoken’s mind, open his eyes.

Wants him to come back.

“It’s a long story,” he says with a tired sigh, hissing at the overwhelming vertigo. “Let’s go back inside.”


End file.
